


Cerulean blue

by Mallorn



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Chiss fetish, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mallorn/pseuds/Mallorn
Summary: Threatened by exposure, Arihnda Pryce decides to improve on the appearance of her pretend relationship with Grand Admiral Thrawn by introducing a deeper semblance of intimacy. Him having proved a remarkable kisser has absolutely nothing to do with it.





	Cerulean blue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15620676) by [ArgentGale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale). 



> The Thrawn and Pryce you’ll meet in this story are a mishmash of novel Thrawn, headcanons and various fanworks; I am not familiar with Rebels. 
> 
> I owe many thanks for the direct inspiration to ArgentGale’s ‘The Game’, which at the time this story was conceived had only one chapter, not enough by far! She kindly gave me permission to write this ‘continuation’. (‘The Game’ has more chapters now – go check it out if you haven’t already!)
> 
> I also want to mention ‘A Dealer in Hope’ by ap_trash_compactor, which opened my eyes to this interesting pairing in the first place. 
> 
> Finally, my English would be a lot worse without the help of teawithshakespeare

Did Admiral Thrawn’s shameless kiss give her pleasure? What a question was that? It was outrageous of him to ask. Their relationship was for show only, an arrangement for mutual gain, and pleasure had nothing to do with it. And yet she felt like burning up inside, dizzy and overwhelmed in a manner that left her vulnerable to the perils of a Coruscanti dance floor. Perhaps she ought to have kept Thrawn by her side, rather than leaving her flank open to the advances of the fast approaching Tarkin. The man was smiling amicably, but the rhythmic clatter of his boots against the floor spoke another language altogether.

“May I?” he said, offering his hand with a small bow.

“Naturally, Your Excellency,” she heard herself say as she put her hand in his. One didn’t say no to the Grand Moff.

For a while it seemed he meant only to dance, as he expertly guided her across the dance floor, one hand impeccably at the small of her back. They made a dashing couple and being seen associating with Tarkin would raise her status, yet she felt decidedly unhappy. The vibes he gave off made her uneasy.

”Miss Pryce.” The sudden austerity of his expression made her fume.

”I’m still a governor,” she remarked sourly as she pinched his hand. The title may have come to her by his actions, but he would not take it away from her.

“Then you should behave like one.” He curled his lips. “Miss Pryce, I cannot but intervene when I see such liberties being taken by an alien.”

She feigned innocence. “Grand Admiral Thrawn holds the Emperor’s trust.”

“He has been trusting me for longer.” The thin smile was clearly a warning.

That was the core of the problem here, wasn’t it? She was merely a pawn, and any jealousy on the Grand Moff’s part had little to do with her, and everything with old alliances.

“What are your intentions with the alien,” Tarkin hissed.

“He is useful to me.” That was true enough. Thrawn gave her connections of a different kind than she could obtain on her own. Time would show if he would also be able to give her pleasure. If she would allow him to do it, she corrected herself. His ability she no longer doubted.

Tarkin huffed. “If invitations to parties is what you desire, this can surely be obtained by more conventional means. Such as a less outrageous relation.” He sent her twirling in front of him, then caught her with the other arm and bent her backwards in a dastardly motion that made her head swim.

“There is nothing serious between the Grand Admiral and myself,” she said when she had caught her breath. It was the truth. A kiss, was all. One she had, in fact, ordered.

“It would be wise of you to take care, lest there be speculation. But perhaps rumours of ill-advised attachments do not disturb your generation.”

“They don’t, actually.” Something in his demeanour stirred up her defiance. “I don’t care if there’s gossip.” Indeed, she did not – the more talk about her and Thrawn – the Grand Admiral – the better.

 “Perhaps this is correct. However, these speculations are of another magnitude. Some may begin to question your _loyalty_. Be very careful, miss Pryce.”

“I’m merely expressing support for the Emperor’s tolerance towards an alien ally, Your Excellency.”

“For your sake I hope so, _Governor_. You’re a clever woman.” His eyes went to her cleavage, a predatory smile on his lips. “Very well,” he added. “You may continue your little dalliance. But you will report to me.”

“Of course, Your Excellency.” She smiled impeccably, despite her impulse to flee. Thrawn was right: Tarkin seemed more than eager to ‘breed’ her.

He chuckled. “Don’t look so afflicted. I certainly do not care for details on your endeavours in the bedroom, should it come to that. But take care, lest you sully your reputation beyond repair.”

She played the role of suitably chastised younger colleague until the music stopped and she could thank him for the dance and leave with her head held high.  

It was finally over. Reporting on Thrawn to Tarkin was not a complication she cared for, but she’d manage, as many times before. At least the Grand Moff wouldn’t pursue her as long as she appeared to be with Thrawn. Now, if that wasn’t all the motivation she needed…

***

Having spotted the Admiral in the sea of people, she strode to his side and then steered him towards one of the side alcoves. She armed herself with two glasses of wine from a serving droid’s tray, and when Thrawn was seated beside her, she was ready to act.

“We need to talk about Tarkin,” she said in a low voice. “He suspects us of not being as close as we pretend to be.”

Thrawn nodded and sipped his wine before speaking, calmly. “Your assumption about the Grand Moff was incorrect.”

“What assumption? He knows!”

“I am, of course, but a student of human behaviour,” he said quietly and took another sip.

“Answer me. What are you talking about?”

“He would very much like to breed you. This is an intriguing vintage, don’t you think?”

His calmly turning the glass in his hand as he viewed the contents made her furious.

“You cannot say things like that!”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I may not comment upon the beverages served?”

“No! The other thing!” He knew damned well what she thought of such insinuations.

 “The Grand Moff wouldn’t be averse to becoming your life partner. Is this vocabulary more suitable in the current situation?”

She nodded curtly. “I’m not looking for a partner for life.” She shuddered at the prospect of being saddled with Tarkin. Of all the people she’d not consider marrying, he was pretty high on the list.

“So,” Thrawn stated, “it is only for pleasure you need someone.”

“Yes. No!” She swallowed. “Admiral, this conversation is entirely inappropriate.”

“My apologies. Allow me to point out that you did state a wish to discuss the Grand Moff.”

She took a gulp from her own glass, then slammed it down on the table, all the while followed by his bewildered stare. Perhaps it had been wrong from the start to involve Thrawn in this – he clearly had very little knowledge of human relationships.

“Let’s start over,” she said with forced calmness. “We need to give a better impression of being a couple. For example, if we were truly close, I should be able to pronounce your full name.”

“I admit that you do have a point.” He put his glass down next to hers, then turned his attention to her.  “Say after me.” His voice changed subtly when he shifted to his native tongue, and the quality of his ‘r’s were something entirely different.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” Her version held a slight deviation from his pronunciation, but it seemed mostly a matter of intonation. She said the word five times more and watched him tense gradually. “Am I that bad?”

“To the contrary. You speak reasonably correctly. I merely find your manner of pronunciation unusual. Your final ‘o’ makes it a very intimate form.”

“How intimate?” She laughed uneasily, a little too loud.

“Like a family member.”

“Oh. As if I were your sister? Mother? Daughter?” He shook his head. Oh. “Do I sound like a I were your wife?”

“My lawful wife calling on me to give her pleasure.”

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo.” She curled her tongue carefully around the word in an honest attempt to do without that glide on the final syllable.

“You’re making this very difficult for me, Arihnda.”

“Sorry, Thrawn. Mitth’raw’nuruodo, I mean.”

He groaned. “Apology accepted. It is probably best you practice in solitude.” He rose.

“I will,” she said with a smile, pleased to have put him off balance. She stood as well, taking his arm when she heard voices from further down the hall.

“… everyone says the blue guy’s her boyfriend, it’s so weird, but Conan heard Tarkin say she’s just using him.”

“What a bitch!”

“Yeah, that’s a bit much even if he’s not human.”

Arihnda fumed. Normally, she didn’t care about gossip, but hearing herself described this way in Thrawn’s company made her furious. She took his arm and leaned back against the wall, pulling him towards her. “Kiss me!”

 “Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she whispered into his ear just as the two women came within her field of vision. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she whispered again, making an effort to draw out the final ‘o’.

Thrawn’s low growl was fascinating and strangely titillating, as was the intensified glow of his eyes. She felt the familiar surge in her stomach as he tilted his head towards her and claimed her mouth. So hot, wet, hard… so soft it almost brought her to tears… and the maddening tingling below…

It was just as the first time, even better. Fuller somehow, and the feeling of being held was still there even after their mouths had parted ways. It felt so good. Embarrassed, she noticed that she was crumbling his tunic in her fists. She let go, trying to smooth out the creases. That is when she noticed. His hand was on her breast, cupping it gently, simply resting there as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Skin against bodice, in complimenting shades. It was a beautiful display, and absolutely obscene.

“Just say the word, Arihnda.”

Somehow she was not in a hurry to make him stop.

***   ***  
  
“You wanted to see me, Arihnda. Or Governor Pryce, perhaps, as I find myself in your office?”

“Arihnda. Always Arihnda. Please. I invited you here as we are still near being found out. We can no longer associate only during festivities and official occasions. We need to do more, add some everyday thing like those small, affectionate gestures shared between couples.” How should she describe them without looking silly? “Things like, this.” She touched his arm, and to his merit, he didn’t flinch. Only the slight widening of his eyes gave away his surprise.

“I have observed this behaviour,” he said.

“It is strange to you.”

“Among my people, we do not display affection in public in this manner. Touching between couples usually takes place in intimate settings only.”

She frowned. That wouldn’t be helpful at all.

“I wouldn’t be averse to attempting,” he added. “I am a learner of all aspects of your Empire.”

“It’s settled then. Whenever possible, we will touch each other at five-minute intervals. Only in public, of course.”

“Naturally.”

***   ***  
  
Rather than intimate, it felt awkward. The slight tingle in her belly at being close to Thrawn didn’t change this fact and although the contact felt nice as such, it obviously wasn’t the same thing as between those other couples. They would smile whenever they met, make silly little gestures she’d rather die than use herself, and they just seemed so comfortable with each other. She and Thrawn were like blocks of concrete brushing against each other due to poor logistics. No spontaneity, no _feeling_.

“This will have to stop,” she told him. The way he had kissed her neck just before had felt marvellous, but she had just stood there, unable to relax even a fraction with other people around.

“Oh. I apologize if my attempts to imitate this behaviour have been unsatisfactory. Instruct me.”

“Your performance has been adequate. Even more than that,” she added, slightly blushing at the thought of the recent kiss. “But it doesn’t look real, not the same way as with the others. And that goes for my actions and reactions as well as yours.”

“Perhaps this behaviour is a sign of affection gained from previously shared intimacy. I do believe this physical expression of affection may stem from a familiarity with each other in all areas. These others are lovers.”

“They are sexual partners.”

“Indeed, if that is the preferred vocabulary. I hardly believe such affectionate touches would be shared between casual…”

“I want that,” she interrupted him. “We will start tonight. This is a necessity for the success of our project.”

His lack of reaction was unnerving. “Assuming you know how it’s done, of course,” she continued, more viciously than she had intended. “And on the condition that we are compatible. Not us specifically,” she added hurriedly, “but our species.”

At least it would deter Tarkin finally. If he got in such a turmoil from seeing her share a kiss with an alien, the realisation that she was fucking one might give him a heart attack. Which would be a pity, actually, the Grand Moff was a great asset to the Empire and a gentleman, even if she preferred to keep him at an arm’s length. Thrawn, on the other hand, for all his annoying calmness, had proved a competent kisser, and his alienness easy to ignore. Especially when she closed her eyes.

“Governor Pryce, if you are sure this is what you want, I am prepared to do my duty to uphold our arrangement.”

“And the compatibility issue?” Kriff, she should have thought of that beforehand. What if she’d just asked him to approach her with some preposterous appendage? She would suffer it, of course. For the sake of her goal.

“There is no such issue. I assure you that Chiss and human physiology are similar enough to allow for successful mating.”

“I see.” The fact was more calming than she cared to admit even to herself, and she decided to let the rest of it slip.

“I also have a modest measure of experience with human women.”

“Then it is settled.” She handed him a datacard, her hand not trembling the slightest. “Come to this address at 22.00. It’s a hotel,” she added.

“Acknowledged.” A small smile spread over his lips.

“What is it? Ad – Thrawn,” she corrected herself.

“I believe it is customary to seal such arrangements with a kiss. May I?”

***

“These walls are soundproof, but the door is not,” she remarked. “Regardless, we needn’t fear being overheard, as the purpose if this event is to further ascertain the illusion of us being a couple in the full sense. To leave no measure of doubt that the relationship is consummated.”

“Arihnda, we don’t have to do this. If you have changed your mind, I will understand. I do know that anti-alien sentiment is quite strong in some circles and if you’re at all uncomfortable -”

“No!” Who did he take her for? A coward? As long as he wasn’t going to come after her with tentacles or the like, she would see this through. It was not his species that gave her pause. She just didn’t have that many good experiences with men.

There was also the issue of pleasure, something she had been looking forward to with expectation. Considering how he used his mouth for this goal, there seemed to be a good chance that he knew how to apply the rest of his body to the same task. She could do with some pleasure right now; she had certainly deserved it.

“Come, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she said, smiling at him over her shoulder as she lead the way to the bed. Headfirst, that was how she tackled uncertainty. Shrugging out of her robe was a matter of seconds. She laid on her back in a position she thought would be enticing. Practical. Showing him everything, making it easy for him. Quick. Get it over with.

“May I give you pleasure?” His voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

There was something about seeing this man in his officer’s uniform looking at her with awe that struck something annoyingly tender inside of her. And yet, she couldn’t but grant his wish.

“Yes,” she said and parted her thighs. And then, she closed her eyes.

His hands caressed her everywhere. Arms, legs, belly. Thighs. And finally, he touched her there.

She thought of his fingers delving into the soft intricacies of her sex. The situation was not unfamiliar; the sensation was. He was careful. Not desperately groping, nor clinical and precise like her own touch. He explored and appeared to take pleasure in doing so, making breathy little noises that embarrassed her. Suddenly she felt an impulse to watch him at work, to see with her eyes what he was doing differently. The colour of his fingers set off the shade of her own sex: brownish pink, like uncooked meat, and altogether unattractive. It was a long time since she used a mirror.

“Stop,” she said, looking him straight in the face.

He stilled immediately, then removed his hand very slowly, almost demonstratively, as if he was afraid to startle her and wanted to make sure she noted his actions. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I just wanted to –”

Only now it occurred to her how strange her request might seem. Backing down was not an alternative, but a little softening might be in order. “May I watch?” Was that a widening of his pupils? Of his eyes? Damn, he was so difficult to read.

He nodded, and she hurriedly put a cushion behind her shoulders before leaning back onto her elbows. She eyed with fascination how his fingertips glided along her folds, how they were covered in slippery, glistening wetness that made them look like some exotic sea creature. Now it crept closer to her clit, stroking over it with a gentle curiosity that would have made her younger self cry. And, it was beautiful.

She felt she should do something in return, attempt to pleasure him, yet there seemed no need. The simple act of having his fingers inside of her put a silly, mellow expression on his face, as if this indeed was the pinnacle of sublime rapture. Perhaps it was. What did she know of brightly coloured non-humans and their strange habits?

She couldn’t tell why she was so preoccupied with his colouring, having never experienced any particular interest before. It felt wrong to think so much of it, as if this was the one feature that drew her to him. She was not, she thought and stifled a moan. Drawn to him. He was… a tool. Yes. He was useful to her, like she was to him. Nothing more. Nothing –

A signal from her sensitive bundle of nerves cut through, and for a moment there was no reasoning, only utter bliss.

“Now,” she told him. The insistent ache between her legs begged to be silenced, and she would not have it be by his hands.

She watched him bring those slickened fingers to his pristine trousers and trace them over the material, cupping himself casually, instinctively, before unfastening them. Another precious indication of him doing this at least partly out of some measure of personal interest. If not in her, then at least in the act itself.

Something was wrong with her. Such things ought not to matter, what did she care for the motivations of others? As long as they kept their side of the agreement, that was all. Watching him stroke that bulge again before he reached into his undergarment lightened a flicker of hunger in her. It was unexpected, and she brushed it aside in favour of the novelty before her eyes.

So, this was what he would use to plough her. Drill, fuck, screw, any of the multitude of crude expressions for what she demanded of him. He didn’t wilt under her stare as others had. Rather, he stretched, the elongated curve of cerulean against white standing even taller.

“Can I touch it?” Asking, she felt like an inexperienced girl. In a way she was. No stranger to the physical side of intercourse, but this feeling of closeness was truly alien. The gentleness, the lack of hurry in his motions, as if there wasn’t any desperation on his part, and likewise no wish to get it over with. What change in their minds was to be brought about by this act? It had never happened to her with previous partners, and yet, this time, there was some possibility. How ironic.

Thrawn gave no verbal answer, but let his hands fall to his sides. His breathing was different now, his chest heaving, and as she made contact, a tremble shook him. She took a firmer hold then, over and around.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” she tried, surprised with the sultriness of her voice.

“Arihnda,” he replied, a sudden alien edge to his pronunciation.

It excited her, and she stroked him faster. He let her, remaining still as a statue but for his heaving chest. His mouth was open now, frozen in a strained grain. She liked having this effect on him.

“Yes,” she whispered, holding his gaze with her own. “And you will come to me now.”

There was no need to tug at him, yet that was somehow what she ended up doing. She sat back on the bed again, and as she moved away from him, he followed until she was lying with her head on the pillow and he knelt between her bent legs.

“Now?” he asked raggedly.

Another thrill of excitement coursed through her and she clutched the sheets. She had not planned for her hands to reach around his neck when he leaned over her, but it felt right. She needed something substantial to hug – to hold on to – when that amazing thing poked at her with its dull, fat tip, ultimately finding its way. It was strange to feel so full; peculiar and wonderful. Then he moved, and it was like the kiss and his fingers combined, only a million times better. “Mitth-,” she started and had to give way for the moaning that welled from inside her. “Mitth-ra-ah!”

She gave up then, an uncharacteristic surrender that bore no shame. Thrawn seemed likewise affected, if not worse. Grimacing and grunting, blue-black hair rocking with each thrust he was farther from his usual well-groomed, impassive appearance than she’d ever seen him. And she held on, lifted her hips to meet him as they crashed together, faster and with increasing urgency until –

His mouth was dangerously close to hers when they finished, her arms wrapped around his neck. A sheen of sweat covered his skin and she let go of him, suddenly embarrassed with the intimacy. She looked away as he detangled himself from her and stood by the bed.

By the time she turned towards him, he had fastened his trousers and was about to put on his tunic. His rank badge gleamed, a pleasant reminder of her victory. Uncaring of her own nakedness, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

“I believe the initial attempt was successful,” she stated. Was that a smile?

“I agree,” he said softly. “We both derived pleasure from it.”

“Very well. We will do this again.” She reached towards her datapad. “Let me check my calendar – ”

“Arihnda, no.”

“No?” The sense of rejection that washed over her brought a stinging sensation to her eyes. “Explain,” she said icily, determined to remain in full control of her body.

“You desire to turn an artificial relationship into a genuine one. That requires genuine feeling, and measures of action borne from spontaneous desire, rather than carefully prepared and scheduled training sessions.”

“Let us assume your reasoning is correct. What do you propose?”

“Close proximity. And time spent together, both of which could be had in present conditions, should you be amenable.”

Would he want that? A real relationship? With her? Was this statement any declaration of his wishes?

“I see,” she said tentatively. “And the purpose would be...?”

“The benefits would be numerous. For myself, a prolonged opportunity to learn, the comfort of companionship, perhaps even a small measure of acceptance by your society. For you, perhaps being rid of undesired attentions from other suitors would make it worthy of your consideration? It would also entitle you to ask me to give you pleasure whenever I am not stationed elsewhere.”

It was an impressive list, clearly thought through. And the cons, she wanted to ask. Would this not make her an outcast, and him, a gigolo? Both thought to be desperate, strange, laughing-stock? Then, suddenly, she registered the exhaustion in her limbs, the counterpart to the dull headache starting to make itself known. She was tired of questions, tired of it all.

“Stay,” she said, falling back onto the bed with her eyes shut. “Just stay.”

The soft thud of his tunic falling to the floor was the sweetest sound in the galaxy.


End file.
